Sunday 7th March 2021

It’s not much mentioned. I can’t think why. Untroubled by ripples, one day blending evenly with the next, breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner, menus in the morning, the shops, otherwise deliveries as we’d always craved. Service at last. Everything paid for, except for those who don’t qualify for payments but somebody’s got to be in Hell, I suppose. The quiet life was once a dream. Oh to slow down, it was said universally. Why so many functions? Racking outfit worry. One dinner after another, with no time to exercise to work off the dinners, so careering downhill. Bored to death in the theatre. Wounded by the slightest word flicked by someone met at drinks. The horror of the world and the cost, resources draining away. What if others were doing better, had selected more successfully from the catwalks, had the knack of not going off the rails just as about to serve, were jetting more, had got better tickets, or even any tickets? Even if spared, there was the horrible responsibility of having to self-diarise, to pitch one’s life up to a suitable level, doing it all oneself. Now none of that. ┬áJust this perfect smoothness, every day exactly the same, no striving or effort required, perfectly cared for, a miraculous uniformity, everybody having exactly the same life. Extraordinary that it has not been remarked upon. ┬áThis is paradise. This is what it will be like, at the finish, when our days are done and we are carried up to the gates to be judged and allotted our place. In paradise, boxed sets on tap in the evening, even all day, total availability, nobody left out. One perfect day rolling on to the next, for ever. Except we’re having it now. Heaven on Earth which we were told was out of the question has come to be. What could be better?

Posted Sunday, March 7, 2021 under Adrian Edge day by day.

Leave a Reply